


When the Punny Skeleton does not make puns you know something is wrong

by SkyWrite



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Belly Rubs, Gen, Plot What Plot/Fluff Without Plot, Reader is player but is not Frisk, Stomach Ache, Stuffing, This is intended platonically but I guess can also be romantic, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 16:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5423621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyWrite/pseuds/SkyWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I just. I am trash. Undertale belly sans trash. This is pure fluff. Sans eats too much and you get to rub his belly. Put me in the trash can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Punny Skeleton does not make puns you know something is wrong

You blindly fumble for the doorknob as you scan the legal documents in your other hand.

The fifth anniversary of monsters returning to the Overworld was in a week, and even though you were already on winter holiday from school, you still had work to do to prepare for your speech. You were planning to milk every ounce of legalese you could out of the existing amendments for monsters’ rights, and for that you had to be prepared.

You finally manage to push the door open, and as you enter the kitchen you let your bag slide from your shoulder to the floor. Being the ambassador was hard work, but it had gotten a bit easier to make yourself heard in the political circle once you’d had your 18th birthday. You were 19 now, living with the skeleton brothers as a form of slowly finding your independence. Though you were quick to reassure Momma, Toriel, that the years living with her were some of the best of your life.

You finally raise your eyes from the papers as you reach the fridge, opening it and snatching a soda from inside. It’s cold and as condensation starts to form you pop the tab, and lift it to your mouth to take a sip when you hear a groan from the living room.

Quirking an eyebrow and lowering the drink you close the fridge and pace towards the sound. 

“Sans?” Papyrus works an evening shift that lasts until eight each evening, and it’s only six. The smaller skeleton brother is the only one that could be home.

The only answer is another groan. He sounds pained.

Your heartbeat quickens in alarm and you leave the soda on the counter none too gently as you rush into the adjacent room, fearing the worst. Skidding to a halt you look around wildly before you realize he’s sprawled on the couch, and you blink rapidly for a moment as your brain tries to process the sight before you.

“Sans?”

He cracks one eye socket open at you. A blue tint spreads over his cheeks but he doesn’t sound embarrassed when he speaks. “I thought you’d be home earlier.”

“Bus was late.” You keep staring. “What… happened exactly?”

“I ordered a pizza. But when you didn’t get back right away I decided it wasn’t worth letting it get cold. Don’t worry though, another one is on the way.”

You open your mouth, but close it again, you are actually completely lost for words.

“Okay, maybe it was two pizzas. The boxes are over there.” He jerks his thumb towards the opposite end of the couch, and you glance down to see them on the floor behind the lamp stand. Your skeleton friend is laying on his back on the couch, with his blue belly swelling over his hips. The pseudo-skin actually looks _painfully_ tight, his shirt riding up over it as he shifts his weight with a pained grimace on his face. Your brow furrows worriedly.

“Are you… okay..?” You ask hesitantly as he presses one skeletal hand to the swell and groans again.

“Heh, don’t look so concerned kid, it’s just a stomach ache.” His belly audibly gurgles and he reaches up with his other hand, clutches it tighter.

But you _are_ concerned, and you come closer, settling on the other end of the couch. He curls his legs beneath him, with some difficulty, to make room for you.

“I just lost track.” He chuckles, puns evading him for the moment as his face tightens, another burble rippling through his insides as he holds his distended middle and squirms a bit.

“My gosh Sans, I didn’t even realize that was physically possible.” You laugh, setting him at ease and he looks a little smug. “Do you want help getting upstairs?”

He looks embarrassed now, closing his eyes. “I can’t… “ He shifts restlessly again. His hands keep roaming over the bulge of his stomach, the huge amount of doughy pizza settled heavy in his middle and keeping him pinned.

You shift closer and slowly reach towards his abdomen, resting your fingertips lightly against the blue membrane, and you ask, “Can I help?”

“Please.” He huffs, a whine at the back of his throat. “It hurts.”

Your heart twinges in sympathy as you reach up and place both hands on his surprisingly warm belly. Pressing down gently you move your hands slowly around the bulge of his stomach, trying to ease the pain. The pseudo skin is tightest just below his ribs, and you massage gently as he burps some and groans. “Feels good…” he’s still breathing heavily.

You reach around and rub your hands up and down his sides to loosen the tightness and relax him. It must work because he sinks lower into the couch and practically writhes beneath your hands. You can feel how heavy the food is inside him and as you move back to the top of his belly you start gently kneading the surface, in response to which he sighs, finally feeling relief. He’s so soft beneath your fingertips and you can’t help but feel a rush of tenderness towards him. You crawl up closer to his side and slide one arm underneath him; he chuckles suddenly as you tickle him unintentionally. You rest your head on his hoodie-clad shoulder as your other hand continues to massage his bloated middle. He’s still groaning intermittently but it sounds less of pain and more of contentment.

“Don’t stop…” and his voice trails off as he starts to get drowsy, his eye sockets slowly close. You don’t, trailing your hand over his bare ribs once before moving back down to knead his swollen stomach again. He’s so sweet like this… more cuddly than usual which is fine with you because you’ve always been a touchy-feely friend. You wonder briefly if it’s weird for you to rub your skeleton friend’s aching belly but you shake the thought away. He needed help somehow.

You finally have to get up to answer the door when the delivery guy comes with the third pizza, but the way Sans’ groans fill with pain again at the smell when you bring it into the house is enough for you to quickly box it up and shove it into the fridge. You don’t mind eating cold pizza, wishing he would have realized that earlier.

You continue the massage for a while until Sans falls asleep under your ministrations, and when Papyrus gets home he shakes his head exasperatedly and carries his lazy bones of a brother up to bed. Sans hurks a little when he’s jostled and you and Papyrus glance at each other worriedly, wondering if the pizza will make a reappearance but Sans swallows hard and looks apologetic as Papyrus takes him upstairs. You don’t miss the way the taller skeleton’s gloved hand rubs circles gently over his brother’s stomach. You giggle as you realize he must be used to this.

And then in the wee hours of the morning when you sneak into sans’s room after waking to more pained groans and the sound of sniffling, he looks up at you from his mattress looking fully ashamed of himself and really very regretful. “I don’t think human food agrees with me,” he confesses as you begin to rub his belly again, despite the fact that he’s eaten it plenty of times before without any trouble. But you let him get away with passing it off on the food as you kiss the top of his head and massage the pain away from his grumbling belly the rest of the night. You fall asleep curled against him with one hand resting on his stomach, one of his hands over your own.


End file.
